You Left Me Hanging
by Matty Muscleman
Summary: This story takes place when It the clown was not yet a clown, but a good young man. He listened, followed the rules, and helped wherever he could. What kind of accident could turn such purity into a repetitive mass murderer? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:**

 **Hi! This is the first chapter of my first story on this FanFiction site. It takes place in the early 1900's, when cars were a royalty and telephones were scarce. I hope that you all enjoy and please do not be afraid to leave me comments, I really encourage you to do because it will improve my writing skills. I am a very busy person so I will update when possible, but I doubt that it will be consistent. Again, please enjoy and please leave your comments!**

* * *

"Charles! Wait up!" Martha called from behind me. She was running as fast as her small body could take her, she was only six after all. I slowed my pace to a jog, waiting for her to reach me. I felt like something was going to happen today; there was  
that feeling, deep in my chest.

"Why do you run so fast, big brother?" Martha asked me, breathless. She grabbed onto my hand, slowing me further until we reached a stop.  
"My legs are longer so they can get farther with less effort" I replied, looking down at her with a solemn expression. She pouted.  
"Why can't _I_ be fifteen, Charles? I want to be able to run fast! Like you!" She said in her cute little voice.  
"You need to wait awhile, but you will be fifteen. I promise!" I replied, smiling to reassure her. I hoped that she wouldn't throw a fit.

Martha was an expert when it came to throwing fits. She would just break down into tears, with really no warning. After that camethe screaming, and then the kicking and fighting. However bad the fit was, it usually ended in her falling asleep. That  
was good.  
"I'm tired, Charles." Martha whined, tugging on my hand. "Can you carry me?"  
"Fine, fine. But you should know that you will get toobig for this sooner or later." I said, lifting her into my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. Her head fell into my shoulder as she whispered, "I love you, big brother..."  
I didn't respond, knowing that she was already fast asleep. I held her and continued to walk down the street, thinking about how fast the summer had blown by.  
We arrived at home, and I walked inside with a small grunt. My arms were sore from carrying Martha the whole way. I quickly deposited her into the sofa and walked upstairs, seeking the comfort of my small room.

"Charles! Get down here! A letter came in for you while you and your sister were out!" Dad yelled from downstairs. I assumed that he was in his recliner, sipping on some brandy. He was getting older, signs of grey hair coming in. He had also gained weight, ever since Momdied.

He hasn't fully recovered, no one has.

"I'm coming, Harold" I yelled back. I started calling dad Harold a few years back, when kids at school made fun of me for calling him daddy. Now Iknow why they all had laughed but back then I was oblivious to the ways of the world.

I made my way down the stairs, annoyed that he cared to summon me after such a grueling walk. My prediction of where he was sitting and what he was drinking was correct. A rather large glass of brandy, and leaning back on the recliner. He was reading today's paper.

"Well, where is my letter?" I asked, my annoyance getting to me. Harold looked at me with his icy stare.

"Now, boy. Is that how you talk to your father?" He said in a slow, smoldering voice. I tried to keep my emotions down, clenching my shirt tightly in my hands.

"Harold, please tell me where my letter is." I said. He wasn't going to bully me.

"Come here, son." He said, beckoning to me with his strong hand. I started to tremble, not moving an inch.

"I saidcome here!" He shouted. I took a small step in his direction. His face turned red, he wasn't used to being denied like this.

"You have one more chance. Get your ass over here." He was seething. I could almost see the smoke pouring out of his ears and the fire coming out of his voice. But his eyes, they were cold. Icy and freezing. They were gray, with no sign of remorse or pity.

"My letter, Harold." I said, not falling into his traps. He looked like he was about to stand, but instead he just took another gulp of his brandy.

"It's in the kitchen, on the counter." He replied with a sigh. I started towards the kitchen.

"Hey Charles?" He asked.

"What is it?" I replied, not looking at him.

"Are you still my boy? My little boy?" This time I did turn. Because he sounded sad, he sounded like Mom'sdeath actually affected him. There was raw emotion. But when I turned, I saw the same man. The monster who didn't care. So I responded in truth.

"No, Harold. I am not your little boy." Then I walked into the kitchen, grabbed my letter and ran upstairs.

Quickly,  
I opened the letter and began reading. It started off boring, introducing a new neighbor. Then came something that was a little more exciting. It was an invitation. To a party. For me. Whoever this person was, Colette something, had invited me,  
the loser, to a party. That was crazy.

"Remember Charles, this lady doesn't know you." I thought, that was the only reason for the invite. _But she will soon enough..._

* * *

I dressed quickly, finding something that wasn't too fancy but not too casual. I honestly had no idea what I should've worn. I was not in any way at all a _party person._ So where dressing for something like this should have been easy, it was a tortuous  
affair.  
I ended up putting on a white button up shirt and my black pants with suspenders. Over that I had a dark blue vest. I wore my casual boots and decided against a hat.  
Excitement overtook my body and made me careless, so I ran downstairs with haste instead of caution.  
"And where do you think you're going?" Came Harold's shoutfrom the living room.  
"Nowhere." I responded immediately in my practicedmonotone voice.  
"Dressed like that? I'dthink that you were off to meet a girl." He continued, laughter filling the room. "Is my puny little son going off to see a girl?"  
"No, Harold. Just a movie with friends." I felt my face get hotwith embarrassment. At least he couldn't see me.  
"With friends? What friends?" Came Harold again, laughter loud and clear.  
"Leroy, Noah, Jack, M-" I said, Mark'sname almost out of my mouth. He cutme off with a roar.  
"The Losers Club! My son is a part of the fucking losers club! Oh fuck. Why do you shame me like this kid?" He yelled. I hung my head. We were known as the losers club but that wasn't important right now. I needed to get out of thatshit hole house  
and to a party.  
"Huh? What's that? I said why do you fucking shame me like this?!" Dad screamed at me. My face got hot with anger and I yelled back at him.  
"Because you haven't helped me! Maybe if I knew how to act around people then I might have some 'cool' or 'popular' friends! But my fucking father doesn't give a shit so no!"  
That was the first time that I had ever sweared in front of my father. I looked over to him just as he threw back the last gulp of whiskey in the bottle. The brandy bottle was laying on the floor, empty.  
He was a let down. I hated him. He gave up, he left the family, his children, when we needed him most.  
So screw him.  
I slammed open the door and practically threw it shut behind me. _I am not a loser. I am not a loser._ I thought to myself. It didn't work. Because I was a loser. And there was nothing at allthat I could do about it.


	2. The Party

**Authors note:**

 **Welp, this is the second chapter of my story. It starts off right after the end of the first chapter, with Charles on his way to Colette DeRiveres' party. I just want to describe Charles' looks a bit; he has sandy blonde hair that changes with the seasons. He is tall and skinny, underfed and overworked. He has bright amber eyes. Please leave comments and enjoy!**

* * *

I wanted to stay calm, but I couldn't. I was anything but calm, sweat coating my body in a thin film. My armpits stank. I hated this. I wondered if and if the guys were going to be there... maybe. Maybe not. Hopefully...

I wouldn't be able to make it at this party if the rest of the guys weren't there. The bad guys would be, like Jake Porter, Felix Benher, and Truman Palker. I needed my friends...

* * *

The large house started to appear in the hazy last light of the day. I heard music and saw people milling about. This seemed oddly civilized for a party. I walked inside the old Victorian manor and saw large portraits decorating the floral wallpaper.  
/It looked as if the whole school was in this large house, lazily dancing or lounging. Everyone was dressed as I was, nice but not overly formal.

Except for one. There was a lady, with shining brown hair and bright blue eyes; she was in a hazzardly cut pair of men's long pants and a dark purple blazer. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that looked as if it was hurting her head. There  
was

a broad smile upon the girls face, a smile that radiated joy and prosperity. Freckles dotted her lightly flushed skin, making me blush. I smiled, knowing that this odd woman must be Colette DeRiveres.


End file.
